Going Home
by bunniesslaughtered
Summary: Tucker is tired. So very, very tired. But that's okay. Wash is here to take him home.
It takes him a long time to recognize the man in the mirror.

He doesn't even realize, at first, that he's looking in a mirror. The man staring back at him looks like his grandfather – a shock of thick white hair, wrinkles covering his face, splotches of extra dark skin splashed across a tone that is slightly too light to be his.

But then he sees things that his grandfather never had. Scars, mostly. There's one across the man's lower stomach, almost like an old school c-section. Another, slightly above it, that looks a little like a stab wound. Lots of little scars up and down the arms, like bite marks. Well, Paps _did_ have a pretty aggressive dog.

Except the marks are too familiar, like he's seen them every day. And he never knew his grandfather that well.

"Mr. Tucker!"

When the man across from him jumps and looks toward the door at the same time that he does, Tucker realizes that it is, indeed, a mirror. And holy shit, when did he start looking so old?

"Mr. Tucker, you can't wander off like that!" a young woman chastises from the doorway. She looks worn out. Stressed. Overworked. "Where are your clothes?"

Tucker scowls at her, because he's _always_ slept in the nude, baby. But before he can say anything, she sighs and takes his hand, guiding him to a room he doesn't recognize at all and insisting it belongs to him.

* * *

"Mr. Tucker, where are you going?"

Tucker turns in surprise. Mr. Tucker? Since when did Carolina call him Mr. Tucker?

But the redhead rushing toward him with a tired and concerned expression isn't Carolina. Her eyes are brown, not green. Her arms are clear of scars. And she's too young to be Carolina, anyway.

"Running laps," he tells her, because even if the girl isn't Carolina she should know that Tucker is a soldier. Between Freelancer and Chorus, it's been pretty well advertised.

"Mr. Tucker, you can't go outside right now, okay?" she tells him in a tone usually reserved for small children or Caboose. "It's raining, and you'll get cold."

Tucker snorts. Yeah, if Wash takes 'it's raining' as an excuse, Tucker will get himself transferred to a fucking rainforest. Wash won't, though. Wash would never allow his men to fall out of shape. "I have to. It's leg day." _You're a space marine. Every day is leg day._

The girl looks more distressed and she tries to take his hand. Tucker pulls away. Not that he's opposed to holding hands with a sexy young lady, but something tells him that it's not right. Besides, he has other things to focus on. "Wash is waiting for me."

"No one is out there, Mr. Tucker."

"Yes, Wash is out there," Tucker replies, getting a little distressed himself. Why wouldn't Wash be out there? Wash is always there. In fact, he's probably dreaming up some cruel obstacle course that would even have Sarge hesitating for how late Tucker is. He reaches forward and pushes on the door panel. A request for a passcode pops up. "Oh, dammit, Wash," he mutters, because of _course_ his freaking paranoid ex-special ops CO decided to lock the doors from the _inside_. He looks at the girl behind him. "Did he tell you the passcode?"

"No, he didn't," the girl says. "But maybe someone else knows. Let's go check in the living room, okay?" She tugs on his hand.

Tucker has no idea why she needs him to go with, or why they would check the lounge instead of the base's records, but he can't really think of the right words to express his confusion so he just follows her instead.

* * *

There's some old dude in the hallway having an absolute fucking meltdown, screaming and hitting the nurses as they try to calm him down. Tucker just sits and listens, subconsciously touching the scars on his stomach. He's feeling much better now. Sure, lots of things still hurt and ache, but he's pretty sure the wounds from his fight with Felix have cleared up. He looks around, wondering when Dr. Grey will show up. She's pretty strict about her patients, which is why Tucker is still in the recovery ward (that's what the nurses tell him whenever he asks when he can leave – Dr. Grey says he has to stay for one more day).

He just wishes he didn't have to spend his recovery time in a ward full of senile old men running around without pants and shouting for their children. But he supposes Chorus has limited resources, and he should be thankful for what he can get.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Tucker," a nurse says, making him jump. He didn't hear her approach. God, he's looking forward to having his helmet back so he can rely on the motion trackers again. She holds out a cup of water and a cup of pills. "You know the drill," she says kindly, glancing over her shoulder toward the commotion in the hallway.

Tucker grins at her. "Sure do. I can handle this. Sounds like you have enough on your plate."

She gives him a quick and harried smile and nods, then leaves to try to calm down the old man. Tucker puts the pills in his pocket and walks out of the room to find Caboose.

Caboose can never remember to take his pills.

* * *

The woman keeps trying to get him to eat, even though he's already eaten _and_ he's not hungry _and_ they're on rations and this is too much for him to be eating on rations.

"Please, Mr. Tucker. It's important that you eat. Dr. Grey wants you to eat."

The name sounds familiar, but Tucker can't quite place it. "Give it to Grif," he says to evade the fact that he can't remember who Dr. Grey is. "Grif will eat it."

"Oh, I talked to Grif earlier and he said he wasn't hungry. He wanted me to give this food to you. You don't want him to get offended by not eating, right?

Tucker knows that's not right. He just doesn't know why.

* * *

Tucker is tired. So tired. He can only ever remember being this tired once in his life.

"Doc?" he says, and he's startled by how weak his voice sounds. But maybe it makes sense. He's tired after giving birth. "Doc?" he tries again.

Someone comes into his room. It's a man, but it's not Doc. He isn't wearing purple or talking about sensitivities or making dry, sarcastic comments. "What is it, Mr. Tucker?" he asks in a voice that's too soft and gentle and confident to be Doc.

"Where's Junior?" Tucker asks weakly.

"Junior will be coming by in the morning, okay?" Not-Doc tells him.

That's not right. Tucker just gave birth, so Junior has to be close. "He can't drive," Tucker points out.

"Someone is going to pick him up."

Tucker tries to sit up a little straighter. "Is…is it Flowers?" His voice sounds strange. It's so strained, so weak.

"Yes," Not-Doc says soothingly. "Mr. Flowers will pick up Junior for you, okay?" And then Tucker's throat closes up in fear and he can't say anything because something about Flowers is bad for Junior. And because he's not saying anything, because he can't think fast enough to talk, Not-Doc leaves.

Tucker is alone and panicking and he can't remember why.

* * *

Wash stops by a lot these days. He sits and talks, or paces the room and examines the photographs. He's pretty good at sneaking past the nurses, because they never see him and can never remember him being there when Tucker asks about it. Sometimes he brings Caboose or Sarge. Grif and Simmons stop by occasionally, or Doc and Donut.

Church never comes.

But Wash is there a lot, and he doesn't seem to mind that Tucker is so very tired, so very, very tired, and he's happy to just sit by Tucker's side.

Tucker asks one day what Wash is waiting for as Caboose drops his pills and hastily mutters "Tucker did it."

Wash smiles and puts a hand on Tucker's shoulder. It must be a very light touch, because Tucker doesn't even feel it. "For you to be ready," he tells him.

"Ready for what?"

"To come home."

* * *

Junior is next to him, and holy shit dude, when did Junior get so big? He's holding Tucker's entire arm in his hand and making soft honks that Tucker recognizes as sobs. He wants to comfort Junior, but his mouth is dry and it's hard to breathe, so he doesn't.

There are other people around him as well, but they're grey and faded, like ghosts. They whisper words that he hears but doesn't understand, makes gestures he doesn't care about. He doesn't pay attention to them.

He instead looks at the rainbow of soldiers standing just behind the grey ghosts. Grif and Simmons are holding hands, looking happier than Tucker can ever remember seeing them. Doc is sitting in a chair with Donut at his feet, both looking at him with something between excitement and contentment. Sarge is holding his shotgun and muttering about waiting on dirty blues, but he can't hide his smile. Caboose is practically jumping with excitement, exclaiming how even though Tucker is stupid and it's Tucker's fault they're going to have Tucker back. Even Carolina is there, standing quietly in the background.

And Wash. Wash is there, in the front, smiling so brightly and looking so young. The bags are gone from under his eyes, his scars are faded, the weight of the world had finally been lifted from his shoulders. He finally looks _content._ "It's time to go home," he says softly. He holds out a hand.

Tucker smiles and takes it.


End file.
